


Brace

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Gratuitous Pazzolivo sexing FTW, M/M, Riccardo being the annoying little tease we all know he is, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giampaolo scores against Livorno and the promised reward is finally due.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brace

**Author's Note:**

> Connected to [Duties and Rewards](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1229431) but can be read as a standalone.

“Shouldn’t you be sanctioned? You know, for letting me score before you did.”  
  
Riccardo is leaning his chin against Giampaolo’s abdomen, his hands on Giampaolo’s bare thighs, thoughtful blue eyes fixed on Giampaolo’s and his pouty lips too far away from both Giampaolo’s mouth and his cock.  
  
Giampaolo scoffs at the question, because  _hello_ , here he is, half-lying on Riccardo’s armchair, pinned down by his boyfriend, fully naked and ready for his promised reward, and Riccardo thinks that now would be a good time to have a conversation?  
  
“Can’t we talk later?” he finally grits out, trying not to sound too impatient, “Thought we were having a moment here…”  
  
Riccardo drops a gentle kiss against his stomach, but his eyes are sparking with amusement when he looks up at Giampaolo again, “That’d ruin the whole idea of a sanction, now wouldn’t it?”  
  
Riccardo is a fucking tease. Always has been and always will be. Giampaolo thinks he will never fully understand why he has put up with it all these years, ever since they were teenagers back in Bergamo.  
  
Tonight, however, Giampaolo is not going to humour Riccardo, because this is supposed to be his night –  _he_  scored against Livorno, and Riccardo promised he would reward Giampaolo for every goal he scored, not a mention of any sanctions.  
  
“C’mon, you can’t start making your own rules as you go.”  
  
Giampaolo likes to think he is not whining. One of them needs to act like the respectable adult in their relationship, and at the moment it is definitely not Riccardo, who keeps tracing Giampaolo’s abs with his lips and tongue, tasting the skin, the touches too light to ease Giampaolo’s painful arousal in the least.  
  
“My game, my rules,” Riccardo retorts, moving just a little lower, nuzzling Giampaolo’s pubic hair playfully, and Giampaolo can feel his cool breath on his straining erection, “I’m your captain, I can do whatever I want.”  
  
“You’re no captain of mine,” Giampaolo tries to argue, but his voice comes out in an embarrassing squeak, “I’m sick of playing by your rules.”  
  
“I can see that,” Riccardo deadpans, pulling away just enough to regard Giampaolo’s erection with interest, one of his eyebrows raised in challenge as he looks up at his lover’s face again.  
  
Giampaolo takes a hold of Riccardo’s shirt – why is he still clothed, anyways – and pulls him up into a kiss, wiping the knowing smirk off his face by pressing his tongue between the soft lips and into Riccardo’s mouth when he is allowed an entrance.  
  
“No more rules,” he growls against Riccardo’s lips when they finally part, “And no more of your fucking teasing. It’s been too long since we last got to do this.”  
  
“I gave you a blowjob two days ago,” Riccardo reminds him helpfully as he climbs into Giampaolo’s lap, straddling him and pressing flush against him from chest to hip. The pressure on Giampaolo’s cock is just enough to make him grow even harder.  
  
“Doesn’t count,” Giampaolo protests, slipping his both hands down Riccardo’s hips to squeeze his buttocks through the boxer briefs, “I wanna fuck you.”  
  
“Isn’t scoring twice the same day a bit excessive?” Riccardo asks with feigned innocence, wriggling his hips just slightly, pretending not to notice the gasp the friction against his cock elicits from Giampaolo’s throat.  
  
“No, it’s called a brace,” Giampaolo replies, internally wondering why he is going along with Riccardo’s teasing again, “Though I doubt scoring with you counts. It’s like celebrating a goal against the junior team of some random Serie B side.”  
  
“Are you calling me a slut?” Riccardo sounds thoroughly amused now, his lips just inches away from Giampaolo’s and his hands brushing against his sides, caressing the bare skin.  
  
“Nah, I’m calling you easy,” Giampaolo corrects and rubs Riccardo’s buttocks more deliberately as if to prove his point, his fingers dipping between the cheeks to add some pressure to his entrance through the fabric, earning a soft moan from his boyfriend in return.  
  
“Fair enough,” Riccardo sniggers against his lips, rubbing his nose against Giampaolo’s affectionately, “Though that’d make you  _super_  easy.”  
  
He slips his hand between their bodies to fondle Giampaolo’s erection gently, and Giampaolo does not even try to stop himself from immediately bucking into his hand, catching Riccardo’s lips into another kiss to hide the groan that threatens to slip out of his mouth.  
  
“Stop talking,” he warns after they break the kiss for air, his voice hitching just slightly as Riccardo runs his thumb against the tip of his cock, “Or I swear I’ll find something to gag you with.”  
  
“That’d be kinda hot,” Riccardo answers, completely unworried, and Giampaolo glances around in hopes of finding anything that could work as a makeshift gag – fucking Riccardo, what is the point of owning so many scarves if there is none at hand when you need one.  
  
“Off,” Giampaolo tells Riccardo pointedly, meaning both his lap and Riccardo’s clothes. For once Riccardo complies, standing up and pulling off his shirt slowly, running his hands up his own torso, forcing Giampaolo to follow his every movement with his eyes.  
  
Riccardo’s black underwear leaves little to imagination, the shape of his erection straining against the thin fabric. It goes off much more swiftly, and Riccardo kicks them off, standing in front of Giampaolo in all his naked glory.  
  
Giampaolo’s mouth goes dry, and he wonders not for the first time how it is possible that Riccardo has this effect on him no matter how long they have been together, no matter how many times Giampaolo has seen him naked before.  
  
“You want your reward?” Riccardo whispers, and now there is no teasing in his voice, “Come and take it.”  
  
Giampaolo is positive he could come from just hearing that tone from Riccardo, and only through his self-control of steel does he manage to get up and close the distance between them.  
  
The kiss that follows is hungry, demanding, and Riccardo whines unashamedly against Giampaolo’s lips, clawing his back with his short fingernails, bucking his hips against him, their cocks pressed together.  
  
They just fit. They always have.  
  
“On your knees, on the armchair,” Giampaolo tells Riccardo, and when Riccardo does not immediately follow his instructions, Giampaolo pushes him firmly towards the chair, urging him to climb on it with his back to Giampaolo, leaning on the back rest, his back arched just slightly, his ass practically offered to Giampaolo’s appreciative gaze.  
  
“You’re so beautiful,” Giampaolo tells Riccardo, pressing up against his back and dropping a lazy kiss on his shoulder, then his neck, his ear, before catching his lips again when Riccardo turns his head enough to allow it.  
  
It is only in these situations when he dares to say anything romantic to Riccardo – when the jokes are put aside and they are rendered back to the very basics: no pretences, no outside world, just the two of them, so familiar with each other they could well be a single being.  
  
“I love you,” Riccardo breathes out against his lips, and Giampaolo can feel it more than hear it, but it is more than enough because he knows.  _He knows_.  
  
Riccardo’s body offers next to no resistance when Giampaolo pushes two slicked fingers inside him – the lube dropped back onto the coffee table, where it had been waiting for them since the last time they did this – and Giampaolo is once again amazed by Riccardo’s incredible responsiveness as he pushes back against his hand, leaning his head momentarily back on Giampaolo’s shoulder and whimpering right into his ear.  
  
Riccardo did not use to be so vocal when they had sex – Giampaolo had learned to read his physical reactions like an open book before Riccardo finally relaxed enough not to worry about the appearances – but Giampaolo likes it. It is something that is purely his, a side Riccardo will never show anyone else but him.  
  
The lube is cool against his cock, and Giampaolo strokes his length a couple times to make the sensation go away, to warm up the lotion for Riccardo. Then he presses the tip against the puckered entrance and takes a hold of Riccardo’s hips before pushing in slowly.  
  
Riccardo gasps at the intrusion – he has pressed the side of his head against the back rest now, half-turned towards Giampaolo, who can see him biting his lip, his eyes closed in attempt to hide from the discomfort – but he does not attempt to pull away from Giampaolo.  
  
“You feel so good,” he tells Riccardo quietly, mouthing his neck in attempt to comfort him. He does not push fully in at one go: instead, he stops halfway through and pulls back, bucking into Riccardo in short thrusts, gradually driving deeper until he is fully in.  
  
“You okay?” he asks, his lips pressed against Riccardo’s ear, softly nibbling the lobe between the words. He starts moving again only once receives an affirmative hum in response.  
  
He keeps his thrusts deliberately slow, focusing on the movement, burying himself completely inside Riccardo with each push. He can feel Riccardo shivering under his hands, and he can feel the soft clenching of his body with each thrust.  
  
A quiet moan and a whimper every now and then, all signs that Riccardo is enjoying this as much as he is. Not quite enough to push him over the edge, though.  
  
“Come here,” he grits out, his own erratic breathing making it hard to speak. He loosens his grip on Riccardo’s hip and wraps one of his arms around Riccardo’s waist, pulling him into upright position, leaning back against his chest.  
  
They search for balance for a second, and Giampaolo needs to set one of his knees on the cushion next to Riccardo to be able to keep thrusting into him, this time with shorter jerks, looking for Riccardo’s prostate with the advantage of the changed angle.  
  
His effort is rewarded by a constrained “Giamp—” that is swallowed into a guttural moan, and Riccardo practically unwinds in his arms. A merest touch on his cock and Riccardo is spilling his seed against the previously clean cushions, his body clenching almost painfully around Giampaolo’s cock.  
  
Giampaolo does not want to give in just yet: he wishes to savour this moment, the feeling of the completely relaxed, sated Riccardo in his arms while he can still feel his delicious tightness around his cock. But he cannot hold off the orgasm any longer when Riccardo reaches a hand to mess with his hair, looking for his lips with his own.  
  
He comes inside Riccardo like that, entangled in an intimate embrace, their tongues caressing each other softly, lazily, tasting the familiar flavours of each others’ mouths.  
  
“Love you too,” Giampaolo finally tells when they are curled up in the armchair together, so close it is almost impossible to tell where one man ends and the other begins.  
  
Riccardo snorts decidedly unsexily, but pecks Giampaolo’s cheek nonetheless, “You’re only saying that because I give you great sex.”  
  
“Maybe, but I still mean it,” Giampaolo insists with a roll of his eyes, not quite ready to take on this side of Riccardo again.  
  
“I know,” Riccardo replies with a laugh, nosing Giampaolo’s jaw line lovingly, “Maybe we should move to the bed? You could try to go for a hat trick tonight.”  
  
Giampaolo does not need to be told twice.


End file.
